Archive of Our Own

Disclaimer: If any of these characters were mine, I wouldn't envy DC or the WB so much! But alas, their ownership remains vastly unchallenged... Sigh.

Rating: R for strong sexuality, adult situations, and brief language.

Summary: In the future, there is another... Clones are a reality. Kon-El is not Kal-El. But as far as Lex is concerned, all is fair in love and war.

Feedback: Any and all appreciated (this is only my second Clex fic, so I welcome input of every kind).

Thanks: To TW and MR for reigning supreme as the ultimate sex symbols, and to all you wonderful Clex authors and readers out there; you all rock! Keep the dream alive!!

In His Stead
By Lexalot

The lavender silk curtains fluttered, billowing from the morning breeze that dawned with the precursory glow of sunrise. Black satin sheets formed a sea of tousled waves that spilled over the side of the enormous bed in a glossy and disheveled series of falls. A shiny shadowed vinyl jacket that shone deep red tones in the catch of light was draped over a chair close by, the vivid yellow emblem on its back bearing the familiar S visible in its entirety and seeming wholly displaced in its opulent surroundings of this patrician bedroom.

Naked bodies shifted atop the mattress, limbs rearranging at more convenient angles for the older man to hover over the younger one as the decadent angel stretched in a coy and confident manner under his lover's looming shadow. Like precious gems, serenely peridot eyes gazed up into eyes of glacial stone with more than an edge of sharp menace mutually implied between them. A congenial measure about the air made the exchange of such voracious stares playful, but there were murky waters lying dormant near the bottom, waiting patiently for the inevitable stir.

As the mood began to settle without rousing the sleeping depths, the comfortable atmosphere was dominated by the very presence of Lex Luthor. Lex Luthor-it wasn't just a name; it was a two-word language, and that dichotic tongue was beyond translation. Still, he could read those stormy blue eyes, an ashen leer burrowing into his pretty features. Then, the elder spoke aloud to his vivacious young conquest. "You look just like him." His stare almost adoring, his tone all too leisurely, the man, pale of skin and dark of soul, dragged his fingertips through the boy's wild yet soft charcoal curls as he peered further into his expression.

Forever trapped in his late teens, Kon-El was having trouble disguising his insecurity at that ambiguous remark. His face was split in two halves, one smiling, knowing it was a profoundly rare and genuine compliment, the other remaining rigid, tripping over the concept that it was not a compliment intended for him but for his would-have-been predecessor. Rather than falter under Lex's scrutiny, he held steady, recovering his cool composure, at least on the outside. Kon began his own reciprocal investigation, searching Lex's faade for a dull crack that might have hinted at a much-dreaded longing beneath the mask.

Kon-El knew he was a clone. As did Lex, of course. Superman and Superboy were two totally different people. However, they were written with the same basic genetic code-despite obvious flaws in the cultivation of a Superfascimile-and as a result, Kon was physically the youthful mirror image of his so-called big brother. Somewhere between a dubious past and the sordid present, Lex had once been in love with the original, though-the real person and the real deal-a love that was never realized or consummated to Lex's severe dissatisfaction. So when he picked up the implicit scent of Lex lost in nostalgic yearning, Kon shrank inside at the comparison to his genuine article counterpart, the inescapable crux of his existence. All the burden that he bore being an underdeveloped replica of the World's Greatest Hero was compounded by Lex and his constant innuendo that tasted like lovelorn substitution. At moments like these, he felt like a copy.

"I'm a lot more fun than he is." His assertion and its teasing tone was little more than a slap to get Lex's attention focused squarely back on him.

As a devious gleam reflected across the glassy surface of Lex's eyes, a wicked smirk to match spread his lips apart, showing pointy teeth like a predator, and he breathed the words through a ravenous smile. "Yes, you are."
Kon-El grinned widely with the characteristic twinkle of mischief glittering in his inviting stare. He taunted Lex with that look, the brash and cynical attitude of an adolescent all too appealing under that skin. Lex drank of the debauched vision he saw drowning in the satin bedclothes, his beauty intoxicating, enough so that his nearly androgynous features were his own now, going unrecognized as being shared with any other in the universe. The sampling took on tactile ecstasy as Lex savored the press of flush velvety lips to his, quickly controlling, acting ever the aggressor as illusions of tender sensuality were shattered by unbridled lust.

Everything hungry in the fierce drive of Lex's mouth on his, everything aching with the crush of Lex's muscular physique and silky flesh upon his bare body, everything euphoric about these delicious intimate rendezvous' swelled Kon's head with delusions-like the notion that Lex belonged to him, like he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it with, like the situation was well in his charge and under his influence.

The only thing he could in reality claim as his own was his will to be Lex's favorite pet and plaything, and at this, he always succeeded. How, after all, was Lex to resist lavishing attention upon the boy who had tempted him personifying his desires, Kon-El so deviant in his flirtatious nature that his seduction was more than welcomed. So graciously received, Lex granted him unprecedented license and a surprising amount of leeway. The first time Mercy had heard thundering heavy metal blasting from Lex's elaborate stereo system instead of refined and morose classical compositions, she had burst inside only to freeze in shock as she saw a young man alone wearing nothing but a red vinyl jacket donning the symbol of Lex's eternal nemesisto whom the intruder bore an uncanny resemblance, however marked by a distinguishing fevered youth, both of demeanor and appearance. He had simply shot her a sly smile, then abruptly vanished, leaving Lex to explain upon his return. The scientifically bred fledgling of Superman a recurring secret guest of the Luthor penthouse-it was too perfectly mad for Kon, and he reveled in the absolute absurdity of their private affair.

For a fleeting second, Kon-El was so possessed by his reminiscing and waxing strange philosophic that he had been swimming in vague and overwhelming sensation, the feel of sweeping pleasure, and pressure where he knew there would ordinarily be pain, but there was none. He reached through the general waves of exhilaration, desperately wanting to soak up specific details of this habitual dizzying high to which he was extremely addicted. Coming back to the realm of concrete perception, he found Lex on the brink of carnal bliss, then as quickly as he had regained full awareness, the spear of fresh penetration impaled him, and Lex was inside him. He barely heard Lex gasp his name as Kon arched eagerly into the rhythm Lex was setting.

Actually, the broken syllable pieced together and as he strung it into something linear and coherent, the knowledge sunk in that the sound was much less like that of Kon as it had seemed like Clark. Undermining thought. Had Lex just called him Clark? Yes, it was so probable as to leave no doubt in his mind. Something deep within him that was hurt ceased to be considered as he decided he could not bring himself to care less at this point, and in the throes of passion, the scary part was that he might have willingly encouraged it in such an uninhibited state. If he did want to respond somehow, the only words were in his head, because he was riding the crest of climax, and his voice was paralyzed by the rapture that swallowed him alive, all heat and intensity induced of Lex fucking him.

Finally, Lex strained, pooling all his energy into one final thrust, then withdrawing just as swiftly, a sudden distance radiating off him. To Kon, their whole physical exertion was a blur of adrenaline. Lex fell back into the pitch of his expensive sheets, absently regarding Kon-El for a pensive minute before consciously wrapping an arm around the boy and pulling Kon to his side. He curled up in Lex's embrace, which held him like ownership, but since it was Lex, being objectified in such ways did not bother Kon.

There was something oddly romantic about this, even as Lex wore his detachment like a badge of honor. Pride and sadness-that was how Lex rewarded himself for these frequent trysts. He bathed in those two dueling emotions during the afterglow of their sexual exploits, and though he hid it well, Kon read it on him as if it were written upon his marble skin. The white stripe across the base of Lex's ring finger slipped into Kon-El's peripheral vision, and the sight spoke volumes Lex would never utter. Like the ghost of his Kryptonite ring, that very faint tan line haunted him. The ring was safely stored somewhere that this boy forged of alien blood would not be harmed by it nor could he guess that it would be kept. Protecting his lover while simultaneously guarding his own underhanded interests, Lex was wrought with paradoxes. Nevertheless, this one fact gave Kon-El all the insight he felt necessary: As long as Kon offered to be had, Lex would have him.

A slowing glide as he touched down, landing smoothly on the small green terrace of the apartment, and just like that, he had arrived. This was their home-1938 Sullivan. With one deft gesture, he swiped his specially designed, red, mirrored sunglasses from his face and hesitated briefly to scan the perimeter, and then examine the interior through the windows. Despite his various handicaps and limited capabilities, he knew Lois was not there and, in all probability, out courting danger, and so Kon made his customary grandiose entrance, sending the glass door flying back on its rollers, strutting brazenly inside. Not even a slight glimpse in his direction as he approached the man who sat intently staring at the screen of his desktop, presumably proofreading his latest work for The Planet.

"Well, you said to drop by, so here I am." Spoken with all the patronizing wit of a rebellious teenager, Kon-El's juvenile arrogance boasted that his cocky attitude and complacent mood were the most invincible things about him. "What's up, Kal." It had not been a question, since honestly, he did not want to know, because really, he just could not bring himself to care. He saw through Kal without the benefit of x-ray-his mind was Kal's mind, and that either worked for them or against them. This moment seemed to be leaning towards the latter.

The man swiveled around in his chair to face the boy who stood clad, as usual, in full uniform, modified to his preferred style, tweaked so as not to be the traditional costume, but universally recognizable still in blue and red, his signature vinyl jacket wide open to show off the large red and yellow emblem worn with pride upon his chest. The smug smirk playing on his lips, the natural flush in his cheeks-the man's own features gazed back at him distorted by restless youth. Some of that-the naivet, the conflicted nature, the boyish visage-had faded from him in what felt like a different lifetime ago, but some of it-the recklessness, the foolhardy rationale, the roguish behavior-he had never possessed in the first place. The possible exception being his turbulent encounters with his Red self. This was what he was reminded of when he looked at the figure swathed in nonchalance leaning against the wall before him-the effects of red Kryptonite. That was how he might describe his cloned self; perpetually Red, but to an acceptable level.

In fact, while he was thinking about his high school ring with the crimson glow, he realized that was the perfect cue to start. "I looked for you last night, but you must have done your rounds early, because I couldn't find you any place. I guess you were busy elsewhere." Though his words carried a sliver of accusation to them, his tone never strayed from its most serene and congenial.

"Yeah, I paid Lexy Baby a visit." Kon-El spoke as haphazardly as he acted, triggering a grin infused with poorly hidden insinuation.

The man sat in a thin layer of uneasiness, the wiser and more mature chiseled features of his face bearing the mix of subtle disapproval with begrudging acceptance, a kind of artificial tolerance for circumstances in which he was powerless. Considering all potential warnings and lectures, then casting them aside thinking the better of bombarding him with platitudes, he reached over to his desk and picked up a small lead box forged in ornate detail, holding it with careful and deliberate fingers. "Are you accepting gifts from Luthor now?" He was wary of his tone, trying not to sound like his dad did once upon a time, but a somewhat indirect similarity could not be helped.

"Of course not!" The boy was quick to reply, but his eyes were transfixed by the mystery object dangled in front of his immense curiosity. "What the hell is that?"

"This came via special delivery yesterday. It was addressed to you, care of Clark Kent." A keen aversion to that admission glinted in his piercing glare.

Kon-El was quite taken aback, but his intrigue had not wavered, and he only felt flattered, knowing it was a present from his lover. The pleasant surprise livening his expression capsized when he saw the protesting scowl born of Kal-El's suspicion. "You didn't open it, did you?" The less than mature or reasonable defensive kicked in, feeling just a trifle violated by Big Brother's prying.

"It was accompanied by a tag with Luthor's name on it. You'd better believe I opened it, and as soon as I did, I closed it back up again." The anger that bled from his calculated composure in that statement revealed an insidious underbelly to this pretense of Lexian generosity.

"Was it...?" Kon trailed off, terrified of the answer, suddenly worried that his blind and pathetic affections had been predictably betrayed.

"Kryptonite? Yes. Green? No!" He watched Kon's eyes widen in both relief and morbid fascination, and at this, he closed his fingers around the box, gripping it firmly in his fist. "I'm going to get rid of this. You don't need red Kryptonite. You're interesting enough without it." Before Kon-El could interrupt with a childish and futile objection, he cut straight to his point. "Lex knows you spy on him, Kon. He's not stupid and can't be underestimated. Now, granted, he keeps you close and he treats you decent, but he wouldn't do that if there weren't some advantage in it for him. Luthor always has his own agenda, and this relationship you have with him is allowed to go on because he finds it mutually beneficial. He never invests time or effort unless he personally stands to gain." He was pleading with the boy, the one he cared about and protected as though he were a younger brother with a talent for making trouble. "He sent you red Kryptonite as a gift-the real gift there is to himself, by the way-and not only does he offer it knowing the affect it would have on you, but he delivers it to me, obviously expecting that I would check inside. I guarantee you that he wanted me to see it-it's practically the same exact ring I had when I first encountered the stuff." An intentional silence. He regretted how harsh his countenance had grown, and he immediately reversed the offensive, stepping back to a friendly urge for Kon to listen. "He's using you, Kon. You should end this now before it has a chance to get worse." That was all the advice he had to give, some that he wished he had heeded himself as it would have spared him a lot of heartache and saved him the damage his die-hard faith in his old friend had done him. He hoped Kon would have the foresight to head off a similar collision with destiny, but he suspected all either of them would ever know was the proverbial beauty of hindsight.

Suddenly, Kon-El shook off the haze of confusion that had left him temporarily speechless, and what followed was hardly based on anything but his clashing emotions and inner turmoil, though there was a scant foundation for it. "You're jealous."

Kal was incredulous, but underlying that astonishment was the equally jarring notion that there might have been a grain of truth in that angst-riddled observation. The thought swirled about his head in a mental pause, and he realized he already knew without having to wonder. If things had been different between he and Lex, now or then, he would have to confess that jealousy would be a definite issue, but things being what they were, rather than what they might have been, he could not envy Kon his esteem in Luthor's eyes. The reality of truth was still cruel though, because Kal knew he was indeed jealous of something-that the alternative dream where love triumphed over hate had not turned out to be the reality. Even as he concealed this epiphany, he calmly asked, "You think this is about jealousy?"

Kon-El's adolescent temperament salted his words with heavy sarcasm. "You've had your shots at Lex-in every possible meaning of the words-and you missed all of them, including this one. Well, this is my chance now." Kon turned away from Kal, waving dismissively as he crossed the threshold of the doorway, then he glanced back at the man lamenting in his chair, sounding so self-assured. "You just leave Lexy Baby to me. I know what I'm doing, Kal."

As stubborn and headstrong as ever, Kon turned to make a flying exit from the miniature garden on the balcony, and Kal-El laughed in spite of himself. There were times he had more than his share of doubts, but it was painfully obvious at moments like these-Kon really was his clone.